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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Survival / Success
- Subject: Pain / Problems / Adversity
- Published: 05/04/2018
Something for the Pain
Born 1997, F, from Melbourne, AustraliaHe was riddled with pain such as he had never felt before as his mother carried his limp burning body through the double doors after the nurse. He was white as the sheet his mother carried him in. His body was on fire, his stomach was being twisted in knots. He was breathing, but it was shallow and noisy. Sweat beaded from his forehead, drenching him so his pajamas stuck to his body. He felt himself being placed roughly onto a firm surface, he could smell fresh sheets and disinfectant. An unknown man asked, “How long?” Another more familiar one said "a few days, but in the last two hours, oh my god. He just passed out and started shaking.” He couldn’t understand. Another voice, female, spouted a string of what sounded like gibberish science jargon as he felt something being wrapped around his left arm and his clothes being cut away. 'Oh no, not my pjs, mums going to kill you.' He thought to himself. His chest bare, a cold object was pressed against it in different places in turn. His head was violently jerked backward and his jaw pushed forward. It hurt. He tried to lift his arms to push the person away but there was no hope. His mouth fell open as he was dragged upwards. A soft object was shoved under his back so that his head lulled backward. A metal object was thrust into his mouth and a tube passed over it into his airways. He so badly wanted to gag on it. 'What the hell are they doing? I can’t breathe!' he thought of saying but for some reason he no longer had the ability to speak.
The pain had reached a peak and his body tensed up. Against all his will, he arched his back and his limbs became numb and stiff. He herd the voices around him go from measured and calm to panicked. His mother’s voice faded away. A sharp object pierced his other arm and something cold pushed through it. Stickers were being placed on his chest and a fast beeping sound came. His lungs were being inflated rhythmically. 'Odd since I thought I stopped breathing?' His body relaxed and the pain had lessened slightly.
“Hello Daniel! Can you open your eyes for us Daniel?” someone asked, or rather shouted at him. A fist rubbed against his chest, hard. It hurt but he could not bat it away. He groaned and started to gag. His stomach heaved. “Daniel, you’re in hospital, it's ok.” 'I know I’m in hospital, I remember mum telling me she was taking me before I passed out,' he tried to make his mouth say. The tube in his throat was taken out and his mouth open began to cough. Then it happened, he was so embarrassed. Willing those around to realize what was about to happen and turn away he heaved. His head ached. He coughed and suddenly was rolled quickly over to one side as he vomited. He couldn’t understand why he felt so bad. Everything he had ever consumed, it seemed was coming out. Someone was rubbing his back and soothing words were coming from behind him.
He lay there for a while, but soon began to wake up. He opened his eyes and they were stabbed by the bright lights of the ER. His mouth was suctioned and a nurse was gently shaking his shoulder. He looked up at her. “There you are little man!” she said.
And then the pain. Like a hulking black dog ripping his body to shreds returned as suddenly as it had gone. A mask was strapped to his face as he grimaced in his agony. Someone was pushing and feeling his stomach and for once he had the energy to recoil away from his cold hands. He screamed, rolled over and heaved again. A nurse asked him to rate the pain for her. He still couldn’t speak, so he shook his head and as tears rolled down his already wet cheeks he managed to mouth the word ten. Someone shoved something into his ear and it beeped. “wow!” someone said. “Let’s get some ice, I want to lower his temperature fast. 40 degrees is just too dam high” the same voice said. The nurse asked the boy if he was allergic to anything. A faint voice from beyond the curtain surrounding his bed said “No!” he shook his head. “I would also strongly recommend that we decrease his pain level, he told me it was ten out of ten, he’s showing signs of shock.” The nurse in his line of sight said to someone behind his back. “Agreed, lets also get morphine IV push five mg to start and a liter of normal saline at a fast drip. I’m betting his little body will be wanting some fluids.” Another person took the tubing sticking out of his arm and attached it to another longer tube and started a drip. A few minutes later ice bags were applied to his bare neck, armpits and groin, damp cloths were wrapped around his ankles and wrists.
He felt that if the pain was not going to stop then it would kill him and that would be the greatest relief. Another person walked into the cubical and handed something to another nurse, the nurse who had rubbed her fist on my chest. She took hold of his arm and after swabbing the tubes port she injected into it what he could only assume was the morphine. Almost instantly his body felt cool, he relaxed, the pain fell away like as his clothes had done. A blissful velvety feeling spread over him. Relief, sweet marvellous relief. It was as though the pain had never occurred. His arms fell away from his abdomen and he let his head fall to his shoulder. He tried to keep his eyes open but that didn’t work. They fell shut. He was falling deeper into the soft plush mattress and the bed sheets were hugging his body as a high sharp ringing sounded, drowning out the din around his bed. It was bliss.
He had had lost track of time. His body was numb, he was not even aware of his own breathing. Was he being absorbed by his bed or being dragged deeper into a dark hole? The air was getting thinner but he was not light headed. It was getting darker and darker. The morphine was dragging him to the bottom of the hole, where it was cool and dark and quiet. His body fell heavily against the hard bottom. He was being shaken, dragged in every direction, he was being poked, prodded, an eye was pulled back and then the other but no light came in. His head was forced back. Someone was being yelled at. Is it me? What did I do? Figures were hurrying around him but he could not see who or what they were. 'Are they taking me to hell?' he thought. Fear was creeping up around his heart. The voices were nonsensical and slowed, like a record played on the wrong setting. "Am I high?" he asked himself. His breathing had slowed and he was getting light headed. He was fading. “How long have I been down here? How did I get down here?” These were questions with no answers. He lay, unable to feel his body. Not moving. Not breathing. He was sure he was dead now. His chest rose and fell but no air went in or out. He tried to open his eyes but there was nothing to see. “Is this purgatory?”
He caught sight of a pinprick sized spot high above him. He focused on it. It was slowly getting larger, brighter. He could hear voices coming from it. Jumbled, they were panicked and fast. A faint high ringing was competing with the voices. He wished whatever it was would shut up. One of the voices was the nurse he had met once but it seemed so long ago. He wanted to climb up there to better hear what she was saying but he couldn't move his arms or legs. He felt a sharp stick and a burning sensation at his right arm. It was rising up his arm. It got to his armpit and spread across his chest. It was like fire. He tried to writhe and thrash around but be couldn't do that either. The bright light was huge and blinding now. He was about to fall into it. He was breathing hard, but this time, air was reaching his brain making that velvety high fade. He fell into the pool of white light. The ringing stopped.
He hurt all over, he was nauseated, he was drenched once again. Nurses and doctors were standing around him, their faces obscured by a halo of light. A nurse to his right was brushing hair away from his face speaking to him. "Daniel! Look at me Daniel! Open your eyes! Daniel!"
“How much morphine did you give him?” One nurse asked another? There was a silence.
“It was either Five mg or five ml. Given the concentration we have is only five to a milliliter, I’m going to have a guess and say you gave the latter and weren't thinking” another said. She didn’t sound angry but the person she was speaking to burst into tears. A male voice said “Well there’s no way for us to know since it wasn’t written down but I'd say you’re right. Bloody hell thank Christ for naloxone”
He finally was able to focus on the faces of those around his bed. It was then that Daniel realized that he had almost died and the pain and the fever was not the problem. He then hoped to never take morphine again.
Something for the Pain(indi)
He was riddled with pain such as he had never felt before as his mother carried his limp burning body through the double doors after the nurse. He was white as the sheet his mother carried him in. His body was on fire, his stomach was being twisted in knots. He was breathing, but it was shallow and noisy. Sweat beaded from his forehead, drenching him so his pajamas stuck to his body. He felt himself being placed roughly onto a firm surface, he could smell fresh sheets and disinfectant. An unknown man asked, “How long?” Another more familiar one said "a few days, but in the last two hours, oh my god. He just passed out and started shaking.” He couldn’t understand. Another voice, female, spouted a string of what sounded like gibberish science jargon as he felt something being wrapped around his left arm and his clothes being cut away. 'Oh no, not my pjs, mums going to kill you.' He thought to himself. His chest bare, a cold object was pressed against it in different places in turn. His head was violently jerked backward and his jaw pushed forward. It hurt. He tried to lift his arms to push the person away but there was no hope. His mouth fell open as he was dragged upwards. A soft object was shoved under his back so that his head lulled backward. A metal object was thrust into his mouth and a tube passed over it into his airways. He so badly wanted to gag on it. 'What the hell are they doing? I can’t breathe!' he thought of saying but for some reason he no longer had the ability to speak.
The pain had reached a peak and his body tensed up. Against all his will, he arched his back and his limbs became numb and stiff. He herd the voices around him go from measured and calm to panicked. His mother’s voice faded away. A sharp object pierced his other arm and something cold pushed through it. Stickers were being placed on his chest and a fast beeping sound came. His lungs were being inflated rhythmically. 'Odd since I thought I stopped breathing?' His body relaxed and the pain had lessened slightly.
“Hello Daniel! Can you open your eyes for us Daniel?” someone asked, or rather shouted at him. A fist rubbed against his chest, hard. It hurt but he could not bat it away. He groaned and started to gag. His stomach heaved. “Daniel, you’re in hospital, it's ok.” 'I know I’m in hospital, I remember mum telling me she was taking me before I passed out,' he tried to make his mouth say. The tube in his throat was taken out and his mouth open began to cough. Then it happened, he was so embarrassed. Willing those around to realize what was about to happen and turn away he heaved. His head ached. He coughed and suddenly was rolled quickly over to one side as he vomited. He couldn’t understand why he felt so bad. Everything he had ever consumed, it seemed was coming out. Someone was rubbing his back and soothing words were coming from behind him.
He lay there for a while, but soon began to wake up. He opened his eyes and they were stabbed by the bright lights of the ER. His mouth was suctioned and a nurse was gently shaking his shoulder. He looked up at her. “There you are little man!” she said.
And then the pain. Like a hulking black dog ripping his body to shreds returned as suddenly as it had gone. A mask was strapped to his face as he grimaced in his agony. Someone was pushing and feeling his stomach and for once he had the energy to recoil away from his cold hands. He screamed, rolled over and heaved again. A nurse asked him to rate the pain for her. He still couldn’t speak, so he shook his head and as tears rolled down his already wet cheeks he managed to mouth the word ten. Someone shoved something into his ear and it beeped. “wow!” someone said. “Let’s get some ice, I want to lower his temperature fast. 40 degrees is just too dam high” the same voice said. The nurse asked the boy if he was allergic to anything. A faint voice from beyond the curtain surrounding his bed said “No!” he shook his head. “I would also strongly recommend that we decrease his pain level, he told me it was ten out of ten, he’s showing signs of shock.” The nurse in his line of sight said to someone behind his back. “Agreed, lets also get morphine IV push five mg to start and a liter of normal saline at a fast drip. I’m betting his little body will be wanting some fluids.” Another person took the tubing sticking out of his arm and attached it to another longer tube and started a drip. A few minutes later ice bags were applied to his bare neck, armpits and groin, damp cloths were wrapped around his ankles and wrists.
He felt that if the pain was not going to stop then it would kill him and that would be the greatest relief. Another person walked into the cubical and handed something to another nurse, the nurse who had rubbed her fist on my chest. She took hold of his arm and after swabbing the tubes port she injected into it what he could only assume was the morphine. Almost instantly his body felt cool, he relaxed, the pain fell away like as his clothes had done. A blissful velvety feeling spread over him. Relief, sweet marvellous relief. It was as though the pain had never occurred. His arms fell away from his abdomen and he let his head fall to his shoulder. He tried to keep his eyes open but that didn’t work. They fell shut. He was falling deeper into the soft plush mattress and the bed sheets were hugging his body as a high sharp ringing sounded, drowning out the din around his bed. It was bliss.
He had had lost track of time. His body was numb, he was not even aware of his own breathing. Was he being absorbed by his bed or being dragged deeper into a dark hole? The air was getting thinner but he was not light headed. It was getting darker and darker. The morphine was dragging him to the bottom of the hole, where it was cool and dark and quiet. His body fell heavily against the hard bottom. He was being shaken, dragged in every direction, he was being poked, prodded, an eye was pulled back and then the other but no light came in. His head was forced back. Someone was being yelled at. Is it me? What did I do? Figures were hurrying around him but he could not see who or what they were. 'Are they taking me to hell?' he thought. Fear was creeping up around his heart. The voices were nonsensical and slowed, like a record played on the wrong setting. "Am I high?" he asked himself. His breathing had slowed and he was getting light headed. He was fading. “How long have I been down here? How did I get down here?” These were questions with no answers. He lay, unable to feel his body. Not moving. Not breathing. He was sure he was dead now. His chest rose and fell but no air went in or out. He tried to open his eyes but there was nothing to see. “Is this purgatory?”
He caught sight of a pinprick sized spot high above him. He focused on it. It was slowly getting larger, brighter. He could hear voices coming from it. Jumbled, they were panicked and fast. A faint high ringing was competing with the voices. He wished whatever it was would shut up. One of the voices was the nurse he had met once but it seemed so long ago. He wanted to climb up there to better hear what she was saying but he couldn't move his arms or legs. He felt a sharp stick and a burning sensation at his right arm. It was rising up his arm. It got to his armpit and spread across his chest. It was like fire. He tried to writhe and thrash around but be couldn't do that either. The bright light was huge and blinding now. He was about to fall into it. He was breathing hard, but this time, air was reaching his brain making that velvety high fade. He fell into the pool of white light. The ringing stopped.
He hurt all over, he was nauseated, he was drenched once again. Nurses and doctors were standing around him, their faces obscured by a halo of light. A nurse to his right was brushing hair away from his face speaking to him. "Daniel! Look at me Daniel! Open your eyes! Daniel!"
“How much morphine did you give him?” One nurse asked another? There was a silence.
“It was either Five mg or five ml. Given the concentration we have is only five to a milliliter, I’m going to have a guess and say you gave the latter and weren't thinking” another said. She didn’t sound angry but the person she was speaking to burst into tears. A male voice said “Well there’s no way for us to know since it wasn’t written down but I'd say you’re right. Bloody hell thank Christ for naloxone”
He finally was able to focus on the faces of those around his bed. It was then that Daniel realized that he had almost died and the pain and the fever was not the problem. He then hoped to never take morphine again.
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JD
06/10/2018Indi, your medical knowledge from nursing definitely comes through in your writing, in the details and first hand experiences. I've never watched the Pink Floyd video you mentioned, but I'm glad it gave you inspiration to write the story! Well done! Thanks for sharing it! :-)
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Indi
06/12/2018Thanks. The pink floyd music video is a beautiful look into the physical and psychological pain of illness and the loss of control and its effect on those relying on you and those you hold dear. Or at least that's how I interpreted the song and its accompanying imagery. The video features the front man closed in a room slumped in a chair having overdosed. A voice is calling to see if there is anyone in there and that the show is about to start. Then the song starts the door is flung open and some people get to work on reversing the overdose while the bands manager is loosing his mind. Then it flashes back to the front mans childhood, illness, war and hardship. The whole thing is a bad trip accompanied by memories of pain and imagery of the front man trying to escape this pain while the overdose is being reversed. I'd thought what if the front man didn't mean to overdose himself? and since I have some experience in caring for people with febrile illnesses as well as having read about these kinds of errors. I asked can I write a good short about this song in third person and include in it, the views of a relative as well as the protagonist. I also had ideas resembling both the bad shroom trip Bryan takes in family guy and the nightmare woody has in the beginning of toy story two. The song is beautiful and I see it as being about pain and the sometimes destructive ways humanity deals with it in all its forms. It jumps between someone reaching out to a person who is in pain and the person trying to reply but not being herd. When the protagonist Daniel talks to his mum and the surrounding nurses, they cant hear him but he can hear everything that's going on around him. He wants to tell his mum hes ok, and the nurses not to cut his clothes but all they want is to save his life. I know what this is like too as I have been passed out and in peripheral shut down, not able to talk or move and yet still been able to hear everything. wanting to tell those around me to calm down but not being able to. Then when the nurses realize their screw up, Daniel knows he's almost died as does the reader. This short came to me warped up in my past experience as both an artist and a nurse with a bow made out of the lyrics and imagery of that song. I feel it represents me, my knowledge as it currently stands and my love for good lyrics. It stands as testament to the fact that all my writing takes place on the whim of fleeting ideas. Its been written up for a long time but this platform previously didn't allow me to publish it because of its mature content. There's one other story with mature content that I was only just able to publish for the same reason. I'm good at writing dark shorts designed to make people think and sometimes frighten readers. I once wrote a letter to my teacher in response to an assignment to write a creative short about who we were. I thought this was boring so I wrote a letter to my teacher from the perspective of a make believe stalker. Purposefully not writing my name on it, to this day she still doesn't know who wrote it, but she said it was unsettling and cleverly subversive of the assignment objective.
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Help Us Understand What's Happening
JD
05/05/2018Wow... you write fiction like it is real life. I felt almost like I was experiencing the trauma of the boy in this story. The details you describe seem so real, like something you yourself have experienced, and are then able to help the reader experience through your words. Great story!
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
JD
06/10/2018Indi, your medical knowledge from nursing definitely comes through in your writing, in the details and first hand experiences. I've never watched the Pink Floyd video you mentioned, but I'm glad it gave you inspiration to write the story! Well done! Thanks for sharing it! :-)
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Indi
06/10/2018Thank you Jd. That was lovely.
I'm a nurse. Before writing this I had just watched the music video for Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb. Love that song and the music video is a work of art by itself. I asked, what would the kid have gone through? How would he have felt? What would his mother have done today? What if I had been the child? and a bunch of other questions. My experience as a nurse and seeing someone in the grip of a fever allows me to write about it with a tough of cold reality.
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